Phantom
All look and likeness caught from earth
All accident of kin and birth,
Had pass'd away. There was no trace
Of aught on that illumined face,
Uprais'd beneath the rifted stone
But of one spirit all her own ;--
She, she herself, and only she,
Shone through her body visibly.
poem by Samuel Taylor Coleridge
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Cora
Of Cora, once so dearly ours,
Would mournful memory sing;
Of how she came when came the flowers,
To leave us with the spring.
That day (returned) which gave her breath
Was that whereon she died,
And o’er the pangs of birth and death
Passed blooming as a bride.
The spring it came, with never a storm,
And nine times came and went,
Till its whole spirit with her form
In budding beauty blent.
Yea, till its sentiment was wreathed
About her eye it came,
And all its foregone influence breathed
At mention of her name.
And aye her soul, her inward worth,
Flushed out in subtle glows,
As from its heart come mantling forth
The ardours of a rose.
It was a glory from within
That made her face so fair,
A radiant spirit void of sin
Was working outward there.
Her locks as they were burnished shone
In many a massy fold,
Or fell in their profusion down
Like bursting sheaves of gold.
Bright garments of a spirit bright,
That even in the shroud
Were like the sunset’s aureate light
Within a lifeless cloud.
When she, our angel of the sun,
Had spread her wings in flight,
Ah, still would mournful memory sing
Of her, our lost delight!
Child with full orbs of heaven-deep blue
Illumined violet,
So richly gentle—touched with dew,
Befringed with glossy jet.
When with the spring we saw depart
Those eyes, those tresses curled,
Then summer dying in love’s heart,
To winger left the world.
Ah, soul that wore the snowy brow,
And gentle shining eyes,
Our song hath aye this burden now
Beneath the vernal skies.
In vain the dews of heaven are shed
Where blight hath been before;
So vainly weep we o’er the dead,
But only weep the more.
Yet from the bright time of her birth
And death, does faith construe
How, like the spring, though not on earth,
Our joy shall bloom anew.
poem by Charles Harpur
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Unless A Man Is Born Again
Nicodemus knew that Jesus was a teacher, who had come from God,
For no one but He could perform miraculous signs he said with a nod.
Nicodemus himself, was a seeker of The Eternal Truth of Almighty God,
And believing in The Word, he was lead by Christ's staff not His rod.
He said unless a man is born again he can not see The Kingdom of God,
Instead of His Mercy they will receive His Justice through His Rod.
These things were much too lofty for the natural mind to comprehend,
Man can not see The Kingdom without The Spirit who Christ would send.
Again unless a man is born again he can not enter The Kingdom of God,
Instead he shall be judged on this earth, where his feet have trod.
For our present body is sinful corrupted flesh that can not enter in,
But your incorruptible body is prepared once you become born again.
Surely one cannot enter his mother's womb to be born a second time?
Nicodemus asked, as he didn't understand, this birth is to be Divine.
For Flesh gives birth to flesh, but the Spirit gives birth to spirit,
And The Spirit is like the wind that you can't see but you hear it.
The above is not from man, but was spoke by Jesus our Lord and God,
Yes, Jesus is The Christ forever and will be using His staff and rod.
You, like Nicodemus can be led by Christ's staff to The Truth of God,
Or continue in unbelief and face The King of Glory and His iron rod.
(Copyright © 04/2003)
An Accidental Man
(music: marillion lyrics: john helmer)
I was taught from the much too young
To never give myself away
Yes I was taught for every secret
Theres a price you have to pay
An accident of gender
An accident of birth
That holds me to this point of view
This time and place on earth
This time and place on earth
You ask me how Im feeling
I only wish you knew
How hard it is for me to share
Share those kind of things with you
Its not that I dont love you
Its just I cant connect
cause I was taught from much too young
To shine and not reflect
Im an accidental man
You ask me if Im happy
I only wish I knew
cause happiness is not something
That I ever learned to do
Its not that Im complaining
Its all the same to me
If everything that happens, happens
Accidentally
Im an accidental man
I was taught for every secret
Theres a price you have to pay
I was thought from much too young
To never give myself away
I was born to worthy causes
I was born to take the reins
I was taught from much too young
To never give myself away
An accident of gender
An accident of birth
That holds me to this point of view
This time and place on earth
So try and understand if
I dont say all I can
A stranger to myself I am
An accidental man
Im an accident
Im an accidental man
song performed by by Marillion
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Anzac Square: What The Digger Said
Said the Digger: 'Soon forgot! Soon forgot, the deeds of war.
Better so, may be. . . Why not?
Beauty fades and laurels rot;
Last year's roses are no more.
Fame?' the one-armed Digger said,
'What of glory when you're dead?'
'Stone and brass,' the Digger said. 'Stone and brass: tho' these endure,
Marble flaunting o'er my head
Would be dead, as I'd be dead.
How may any man be sure
That the hearts of men shall hold
Memories of tales once told?
This alone I surely know: earth I am, and earth shall be,
Only Mother Earth can show,
When I go where all men go,
Aught of this that had been me.
Mother Earth, once stained so red,
She must know,' the Digger said.
'Would you raise, in braggart heaps, stone, cold stone, to mark the fame
Of full many a man who sleeps
Where the earth of Anzac keeps
Guard o'er legions lacking name
Plinth and pillar reared to show
Pomp and pride they cannot know?
'They ask no portentous pile, boasting to a heedless sky,
Stirring men a little while,
Subject, then, for sigh or smile,
Not for this do soldiers die,
With our passing let Pride be,
All we ask is Memory:
'Memory of such fair worth as a fighting man may claim,
And a plot of hallowed earth
In the city of our birth:
Earth that bears a hallowed name.
Let it be envisioned there:
Anzac worth in Anzac Square.
'Memory,' the Digger said. 'If so be the city judge
Soldiers worthy, who have bled.
Worthy of her love, the dead,
Shall the city, then, begrudge
One wide acre of her soil
For who saved the whole from spoil?
'Here, it may be, by God's grace, our son's sons may sit at last,
In the People's market place,
Knowing truly, as they trace
Memory of me long past,
'Tis enshrined forever there:
Anzac worth in Anzac Square.'
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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God Created Heaven
God Created Heaven
=================
Beginning Earth Without Form
Void Of Darkness Was The Face
Spirit Of God The Face On Water
Divides The Light From Spirit Form.
Darkness Night
Light Of Way
Light Of Day
Dry Land Earth
It Was So.
Gathering Water Seas
Yield Of Land
Abound With Fruit
God Was Good.
As The Stars Made
Signs Of Seasons
Light On Earth
Divide From Night
Divide Of Day
He Made The Stars
Abundance Love.
God Bless
Our Likeness Of God Image
His Own Dominion
All Who Host
A Work He'd Done.
poem by Ricardo Antunes
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From small begginings story poem for M'lady Ernestine
.
A cairn of stones that’s added to
By travellers who pass this way.
Although today they’re very few.
Few realise the cairn exists
Now no one can remember why
But the custom still persists
Originally the cairn was built
to mark the spot where someone died.
Perhaps assuaging a sense of guilt.
The killing was an accident
a blow which was in anger struck.
There was no murderous intent
He killed his friend and he confessed
The man was truly penitent.
So obviously that he impressed.
The learned judge who heard the case.
Who ruled that he was innocent
of murder but that he still must face.
A whole life sentence of regret
and that was punishment enough.
This old legend lingers yet.
Each time he passed the spot
he placed a stone upon the cairn.
Which whilst he lived grew quite a lot.
It towers now some eight feet high.
As people added their tribute
although no one remembers why.
Although it’s off the beaten track
one day you might just pass this way
and add your pebble to the stack
It has become a monument
a cairn of stone sure to impress.
Yet it began by accident
12/10/2009
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Eurydice
I
So you have swept me back,
I who could have walked with the live souls
above the earth,
I who could have slept among the live flowers
at last;
so for your arrogance
and your ruthlessness
I am swept back
where dead lichens drip
dead cinders upon moss of ash;
so for your arrogance
I am broken at last,
I who had lived unconscious,
who was almost forgot;
if you had let me wait
I had grown from listlessness
into peace,
if you had let me rest with the dead,
I had forgot you
and the past.
II
Here only flame upon flame
and black among the red sparks,
streaks of black and light
grown colourless;
why did you turn back,
that hell should be reinhabited
of myself thus
swept into nothingness?
why did you glance back?
why did you hesitate for that moment?
why did you bend your face
caught with the flame of the upper earth,
above my face?
what was it that crossed my face
with the light from yours
and your glance?
what was it you saw in my face?
the light of your own face,
the fire of your own presence?
What had my face to offer
but reflex of the earth,
hyacinth colour
caught from the raw fissure in the rock
where the light struck,
and the colour of azure crocuses
and the bright surface of gold crocuses
and of the wind-flower,
swift in its veins as lightning
and as white.
III
Saffron from the fringe of the earth,
wild saffron that has bent
over the sharp edge of earth,
all the flowers that cut through the earth,
all, all the flowers are lost;
everything is lost,
everything is crossed with black,
black upon black
and worse than black,
this colourless light.
IV
Fringe upon fringe
of blue crocuses,
crocuses, walled against blue of themselves,
blue of that upper earth,
blue of the depth upon depth of flowers,
lost;
flowers,
if I could have taken once my breath of them,
enough of them,
more than earth,
even than of the upper earth,
had passed with me
beneath the earth;
if I could have caught up from the earth,
the whole of the flowers of the earth,
if once I could have breathed into myself
the very golden crocuses
and the red,
and the very golden hearts of the first saffron,
the whole of the golden mass,
the whole of the great fragrance,
I could have dared the loss.
V
So for your arrogance
and your ruthlessness
I have lost the earth
and the flowers of the earth,
and the live souls above the earth,
and you who passed across the light
and reached
ruthless;
you who have your own light,
who are to yourself a presence,
who need no presence;
yet for all your arrogance
and your glance,
I tell you this:
such loss is no loss,
such terror, such coils and strands and pitfalls
of blackness,
such terror
is no loss;
hell is no worse than your earth
above the earth,
hell is no worse,
no, nor your flowers
nor your veins of light
nor your presence,
a loss;
my hell is no worse than yours
though you pass among the flowers and speak
with the spirits above earth.
VI
Against the black
I have more fervour
than you in all the splendour of that place,
against the blackness
and the stark grey
I have more light;
and the flowers,
if I should tell you,
you would turn from your own fit paths
toward hell,
turn again and glance back
and I would sink into a place
even more terrible than this.
VII
At least I have the flowers of myself,
and my thoughts, no god
can take that;
I have the fervour of myself for a presence
and my own spirit for light;
and my spirit with its loss
knows this;
though small against the black,
small against the formless rocks,
hell must break before I am lost;
before I am lost,
hell must open like a red rose
for the dead to pass.
poem by Hilda Doolittle
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Anzac
Anzac! And war's grim storm . . .
The scream of a pass'ng shell
Torn earth, and - a quiet form . . .
'Pass, comrades. All is well.'
Nay, but his spirit lives; be very sure.
Year follows year, and earthly things depart;
But what he dying, gave us shall endure
Now and for ever in the nation's heart.
Now and for ever; tho' the flesh be gone,
Still shall that Spirit bid us, 'Carry on!'
Anzac! The mounds increase;
Marking where soldiers fell . . . .
Earth's healing scars; and peace.
'Sleep, comrades. All is well.'
And be full certain that they do but sleep,
Who, falling, yet were well content to find
Fit sanctuary in the hearts that keep
That spirit and that memory enshrined.
High on Gallipoli, lights that once shone,
Again flame o'er the ocean: 'Carry on!'
Anzac! The tramp of marching feet . . . .
The toll of a passing-bell.
Bowed heads along a city street . . . .
'Pass, soldier. All is well.'
Pass, soldier. When your dwindling ranks grow small;
When, one by one, old comrades you shall greet;
When the last, lonely veteran's footfall
Goes echoing adown this city street,
Still may that Spirit, tho' all else be gone,
Cry to our sons: 'Australia! Carry on!'
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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Reggae Accident
Reggae accident
By: lucas p. gravell
1993
-- spoken:
Okay now, get ready heres your part. now listen to me.
It was a reggae accident
I said a reggae accident
I cant here you
A reggae accident
A reggae accident
A reggae accident
Now make room for the band
A reggae accident
Here they come here they come
A reggae accident
I say make room for them
A reggae accident
Ha ha, look out now
It was a reggae accident
A reggae accident
This is not a political statement
Nor is it a farce
In the land of the great bald bird
The rasta man is sparse
He does not like our urban jungle
Or our capitalistic nightmare
He does not believe in auto insurance
Mon I dont believe that is fair
It was a reggae accident
Four rastas in a rambler
A reggae accident
They came from out of nowhere
A reggae accident
They were smoking some spliff cigars
A reggae accident
They totaled out my car
I lost the case that sealed my fate
Last week in municipal court
The judge ruled for rasta restitution
Of a most peculiar sort
Now theres four stoned faces at my dinner table
And my wife wonders how come
She does not mind the extra mouths to feed
As much as she minds those after dinner drums
We sing was a reggae accident
Four rastas eating pasta
A reggae accident
Pass the parmesan please
A reggae accident
How does a rasta spell relief
A reggae accident
No problem mon, pass the spliff
Oh reggae down...
Now the sun shines on the isle of jamaica
As its done since time began
No problem says the rasta mon
When I asked to join his band
You see I sold my house I quit my job
I left that narrow-minded wife
And I moved to the island of jamaica ya
Just to live that rasta life
It was a reggae accident
Four rastas in a rambler
A reggae accident
They came from out of nowhere
A reggae accident
They were smoking some spliff cigars
A reggae accident
Now Ive become a rasta star
It was a reggae accident
Look out world
A reggae accident
You know the harder they come
A reggae accident
The harder they fall one and all
A reggae accident
It was just an accident one day
A reggae accident
A reggae accident
A reggae accident
A reggae accident
-- spoken:
Come back, come back to jamaica
Come back to the way things used to be
Ya, ya lets play some dominoes now mon
Come on...
song performed by by Jimmy Buffett
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Today... 'Jesus Christ
He's the Son of God and the Son of Man.
and now step by step we can trace God's plan.
For His human ancestry can be seen
through the lives of those that have walked this scene.
The genealogy of the Messiah
we trace from Abraham through to Josiah
On throughout each ancestors life and death
until we come to the man called Joseph.
By The Spirit conceived, The Promised One
Jesus Christ, God's Only Belovèd Son
brought God's wondrous Grace and Truth to the earth
when born in a stable by virgin birth.
(see also the additional information in the Poet's notes box below)
Fundamental of Liar Chapter LXXXII: Accident
It’s not a terrorist attack
It’s not a battle of war
It’s just an accident
It’s not natural disaster
It’s not global tragedy
It’s just an accident
It’s not a conspiracy theory
It’s not a character murder
It’s just an accident
It’s not a careless mistake
It’s not a wrong decision
It’s just an accident
It’s not a misfortune
It’s not a twisted fate
It’s just an accident
It’s not a planned piracy
It’s not a suicide party
It’s just an accident
It’s not a mechanical failure
It’s not a human error
It’s just an accident
It’s not a crash
It’s not a downfall
It’s just an accident
poem by Maria Sudibyo
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A Star!
A star shone out so very bright,
Not just a little, simple one,
But one so special in our sight,
A new life had begun.
A star shone out so very clear,
Hung way up in a cloudless sky,
Over a stable, where a dear
Babe, heard a lullaby.
A star shone out so very bold,
Showing where this child was laid,
With a halo of the purist gold
Around his head, displayed.
A star shone out so very fine,
Leading us all to worship him,
One small human, pure and divine,
Our cup's full to the brim.
A star shone out so very great,
Beaming down on that Christmas birth,
And bands of angels did cantillate,
Praising God across our earth.
poem by Ernestine Northover
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Trespasser for M lady Chitra
Lost deep in thought my footsteps strayed
And brought me to a woodland glade.
Wherein there stood an altar stone
erected to some God unknown
Erected in pre history.
The stone will stand eternally
as evidence of worship here
of some forgotten deity..
The altar stone is still pristine
It’s surface completely free
of lichens which should have been
thriving on it visibly.
Perhaps the worshippers still meet
Creep through the woods on silent feet
to carry out their ancient rites.
Beneath the moon on summer nights
When new gods drive he old gods out.
I am convinced I have no doubt
There still remains a faithful few
who worship as they used to do.
Perchance they still worship here
That is the reason that the stone is clear.
Quite suddenly I feel oppressed
and I decide its for the best.
To take again my homeward way
hurriedly without delay.
I feel that I must leave this place
and quicken up my walking pace
I wonder still uneasily
did I offend some deity.
Albeit inadvertently
who might decide to punish me
Though years have passed I’m still afraid.
I trespassed in that woodland glade.
Although in fact by accident
perhaps I earned some punishment.
Perhaps I’m being paranoid.
I try my hardest to avoid
Walking woodland paths alone
they might lead to that altar stone.
10/10/2009
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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The earth? A cosmic accident. The life? A chemical accident. The man? A biological accident.
aphorism by Valeriu Butulescu, translated by Dan Costinaş
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
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In Memory of a Happy Day in February
Blessed be Thou for all the joy
My soul has felt today!
O let its memory stay with me
And never pass away!
I was alone, for those I loved
Were far away from me,
The sun shone on the withered grass,
The wind blew fresh and free.
Was it the smile of early spring
That made my bosom glow?
'Twas sweet, but neither sun nor wind
Could raise my spirit so.
Was it some feeling of delight,
All vague and undefined?
No, 'twas a rapture deep and strong,
Expanding in the mind!
Was it a sanguine view of life
And all its transient bliss
A hope of bright prosperity?
O no, it was not this!
It was a glimpse of truth divine
Unto my spirit given
Illumined by a ray of light
That shone direct from heaven!
I felt there was a God on high
By whom all things were made.
I saw His wisdom and his power
In all his works displayed.
But most throughout the moral world
I saw his glory shine;
I saw His wisdom infinite,
His mercy all divine.
Deep secrets of his providence
In darkness long concealed
Were brought to my delighted eyes
And graciously revealed.
But while I wondered and adored
His wisdom so divine,
I did not tremble at his power,
I felt that God was mine.
I knew that my Redeemer lived,
I did not fear to die;
Full sure that I should rise again
To immortality.
I longed to view that bliss divine
Which eye hath never seen,
To see the glories of his face
Without the veil between.
poem by Anne Brontë from Poems by Currer, Ellis, and Acton Bell (1846)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Galadriel
My love is turning.
Like a wheel of fire she burns her way.
My love is burning.
She's a light to guide me through the fray.
Galadriel, spirit of starlight.
Eagle and dove gave birth to thee.
Galadriel, spirit of starlight.
You are my love and earth to me, my
Love and earth to me.
My love is seeing.
Through unabiased eyes she reads the signs.
My love is searching.
For new life somewhere she's bound to find.
Galadriel, spirit of starlight.
Eagle and dove give birth to thee.
Galadriel, spirit of starlight.
You are my love and earth to me.
My love and earth to me.
song performed by by Cliff Richard
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Mountain Spring
Peace hath an altar there. The sounding feet
Of thunder and the wildering wings of rain
Against fire-rifted summits flash and beat,
And through grey upper gorges swoop and strain;
But round that hallowed mountain-spring remain,
Year after year, the days of tender heat,
And gracious nights whose lips with flowers are sweet,
And filtered lights, and lutes of soft refrain.
A still, bright pool. To men I may not tell
The secrets that its heart of water knows,
The story of a loved and lost repose;
Yet this I say to cliff and close-leaved dell:
A fitful spirit haunts yon limpid well,
Whose likeness is the faithless face of Rose.
poem by Henry Kendall
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Testament
And now to the Abyss I pass
Of that Unfathomable Grass...
1.
Dear relatives and friends, when my last breath
Grows large and free in air, don't call it death --
A word to enrich the undertaker and inspire
His surly art of imitating life; conspire
Against him. Say that my body cannot now
Be improved upon; it has no fault to show
To the sly cosmetician. Say that my flesh
Has a perfect compliance with the grass
Truer than any it could have striven for.
You will recognize the earth in me, as before
I wished to know it in myself: my earth
That has been my care and faithful charge from birth,
And toward which all my sorrows were surely bound,
And all my hopes. Say that I have found
A good solution, and am on my way
To the roots. And say I have left my native clay
At last, to be a traveler; that too will be so.
Traveler to where? Say you don't know.
2.
But do not let your ignorance
Of my spirit's whereabouts dismay
You, or overwhelm your thoughts.
Be careful not to say
Anything too final. Whatever
Is unsure is possible, and life is bigger
Than flesh. Beyond reach of thought
Let imagination figure
Your hope. That will be generous
To me and to yourselves. Why settle
For some know-it-all's despair
When the dead may dance to the fiddle
Hereafter, for all anybody knows?
And remember that the Heavenly soil
Need not be too rich to please
One who was happy in Port Royal.
I may be already heading back,
A new and better man, toward
That town. The thought's unreasonable,
But so is life, thank the Lord!
3.
So treat me, even dead,
As a man who has a place
To go, and something to do.
Don't muck up my face
With wax and powder and rouge
As one would prettify
An unalterable fact
To give bitterness the lie.
Admit the native earth
My body is and will be,
Admit its freedom and
Its changeability.
Dress me in the clothes
I wore in the day's round.
Lay me in a wooden box.
Put the box in the ground.
4.
Beneath this stone a Berry is planted
In his home land, as he wanted.
He has come to the gathering of his kin,
Among whom some were worthy men,
Farmers mostly, who lived by hand,
But one was a cobbler from Ireland,
Another played the eternal fool
By riding on a circus mule
To be remembered in grateful laughter
Longer than the rest. After
Doing that they had to do
They are at ease here. Let all of you
Who yet for pain find force and voice
Look on their peace, and rejoice.
poem by Wendell Berry
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The Soldier
He is that fallen lance that lies as hurled,
That lies unlifted now, come dew, come rust,
But still lies pointed as it ploughed the dust.
If we who sight along it round the world,
See nothing worthy to have been its mark,
It is because like men we look too near,
Forgetting that as fitted to the sphere,
Our missiles always make too short an arc.
They fall, they rip the grass, they intersect
The curve of earth, and striking, break their own;
They make us cringe for metal-point on stone.
But this we know, the obstacle that checked
And tripped the body, shot the spirit on
Further than target ever showed or shone.
poem by Robert Frost
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A Soldier
He is that fallen lance that lies as hurled,
That lies unlifted now, come dew, come rust,
But still lies pointed as it plowed the dust.
If we who sight along it round the world,
See nothing worthy to have been its mark,
It is because like men we look too near,
Forgetting that as fitted to the sphere,
Our missiles always make too short an arc.
They fall, they rip the grass, they intersect
The curve of earth, and striking, break their own;
They make us cringe for metal-point on stone.
But this we know, the obstacle that checked
And tripped the body, shot the spirit on
Further than target ever showed or shone.
poem by Robert Frost
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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